Stolen
by bubbleteadesu
Summary: AU; In which the accidental meeting of two thieves result in stolen treasure, stolen kisses and a stolen heart.


**Title:** Stolen  
**Characters/Pairings:** America/England  
**Rating: **T  
**Summary:** AU [human names used]; In which the accidental meeting of two thieves result in stolen treasure, stolen kisses and a stolen heart.  
**Warning:** a lot of kissing, glamorizing crime?  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

i.

So this was what they called abstract expressionism.

To Arthur, it merely looked like an explosion of color with no sense or substance at all. It was as if the artist had just lazily flicked paint on plain canvas then hoped to pass it off as authentic art.

And the people in the art exhibit, socialites who suddenly for the occasion at hand decided to be art critics, lapped it up. Arthur could not help tutting in amusement as they examined the art closely and announced that the painting had deep hidden messages of rejection, depression and over-all emotional turmoil in that bored, drawling, and pretentious tones of theirs. Honestly, they were reading too much into a simple picture.

Arthur couldn't care less about whatever painful emotions the painting was unearthing. All he could think about was how much he was going to earn from this painting. Maybe just a few hundred thousand pounds, the artist wasn't so well-known yet after all.

A waiter approached him and offered him a flute of champagne and a folded napkin. Arthur took the napkin and, with one last questioning look at the waiter, opened it.

_Hey cutie. Call me when you get home._

Underneath the scrawled handwriting were a number and a winking emoticon. Arthur flushed, though from annoyance at the writer's insolence or embarrassment at the compliment, he couldn't tell.

He turned sharply to the waiter. "Who gave you this note?"

The waiter, who was busily attending to the socialites cum art patrons, tilted his head slightly towards a nearby golden statue of Hermes.

And there by the statue stood a young man, with blond hair (and one cowlick upright against gravity) that stood out among the salt-and-pepper heads of most of the other guests. He was terribly underdressed for the strictly-formal occasion that was this art exhibit, in a navy blazer and slacks, and yet he exuded this kind of confidence that made everyone else feel that they were actually the ones who were overdressed, not him, of course not. (Plus he actually looked _quite_ cute in that outfit, Arthur observed, before quickly banishing the thought while distractedly tugging on his bowtie.) Arthur flushed even redder when he realized that the man was watching him too, with twinkling blue eyes from behind his glasses, and…did he just _wink_ at Arthur?

Arthur gave him his sharpest glare, channeling into it all his annoyance and embarrassment. Then with a huff, he turned around and walked pointedly away towards another painting.

* * *

Late that night, Arthur returned stealthily to the art exhibit only to find out that the abstract painting was gone. Stolen.

How in this bloody world could that have happened when he was the one who was supposed to _steal_ it?

* * *

_…footage from the surveillance cameras at the art gallery reports the presence of a masked robber making off with the now-missing painting. His only identifiable feature is his blond hair with one cowlick standing up in defiance of gravity, though how this is going to help with the investigation, with the hundreds of blond men in the vicinity, no one knows._

Arthur switched off the television and leaned back against his couch. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose; it had always made thinking easier for him.

It must be have been _him_. Who else could it have been?

* * *

ii.

A party just to show off a necklace. Oh the things the rich do with their money.

It was a family heirloom, he could hear the rich matron's booming voice announcing to anyone who bothered to listen. And a gaudy one at that, he thought with distaste. But he could see why his boss wanted him steal the necklace hanging from the old woman's plump white neck. The rubies and emeralds on that pendant alone must be worth millions of pounds, and when you add in the heavy golden chain it was hanging from…Arthur could not begin to comprehend the hundreds of millions he was going to earn from this "gaudy" necklace alone.

Stealing it had been all too easy. The matron had reentered her mansion, went up to her bedroom and left the necklace lying around on her dresser. And Arthur had sneaked in after her quietly, took the necklace from the dresser then slipped it inside the pocket of his trench coat. Now all he had to do was to sneak out of this party before she noticed that her much-loved heirloom was gone.

He was almost out; he was already near the gate when he heard someone whisper in his ear,

"You didn't call me last night."

He turned around sharply. The young man from the other night at the art gallery stood behind him, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously at him.

Arthur tried to walk away but the man quickly moved in front of him, blocking the path towards the gate.

He shook his head at Arthur. "Nu-uh. You're not going anywhere, mister. Not unless you pay me back for the time I wasted waiting by the telephone for you to call me."

Arthur huffed. "I'm sorry, _mister_, but I don't waste my time calling insufferable strangers like you."

"Then," the man replied, beaming at Arthur, "I'll introduce myself so we won't be strangers anymore." He held a hand out towards Arthur. "I'm Alfred and you must be…?"

"None of your business." Arthur snapped, glaring, first at Alfred's outstretched hand, then at up at him. "Now if you please, I have more important things to do."

He tried to walk past Alfred again but he continued to block his way. Alfred chuckled. "I'm sorry, babe, but I can't let you walk away. For two reasons." He held a finger up in front of Arthur's face, "Number one, you have something of _great importance_ to me. And," he held up another finger. "number two, I think you're really _really_ cute, you know, and I can't just let you leave like that."

"As much as your second reason sounds rather flattering," Arthur replied (whilst trying to will down the blush forming on his cheeks), "I don't plan to let you stop me from walking out of this party. And as for your first reason, well," He looked up at Alfred meaningfully, "isn't the painting from the other night more than enough?"

"Nothing is _ever_ enough for my boss" Alfred muttered under his breath. "Look," he said, this time to Arthur, "if I had my way I'd say we compromise. Take turns you know. Like, I got the painting before so why don't you get the necklace now? That sounds really good, right? But you see, I don't get _my way_ in this situation. I have a boss and my boss wants me to get that necklace in your possession and now if you give it to me really _nicely_ then who knows, maybe I can convince him to give you part of the loot. After I get my part, of course."

"Will you _shut up_!" Arthur hissed, looking around frantically. Luckily, no one seemed to pay any attention to them, despite Alfred's loud mouth. "Do you want to blow _both_ our covers? I don't care whether you go to jail but I care whether _I_ go to jail so shut up!"

"Well if you only gave me the, you know,-"

"I can't, okay!" Arthur snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I worked hard to find a way to steal this and I won't give it up to _you_. Besides, my boss isn't exactly pleased that I didn't bring home the painting that _you_ stole. So if you'll excuse me."

He tried to push past Alfred again but it seemed he was not the only one who was growing impatient. To his surprise, Alfred pushed him back up against the gate post.

_"What the bloody hell are you doing_?" He demanded angrily.

Alfred shrugged. "This was supposed to be my last resort but you leave me no choice. Besides," he winked at Arthur, "it's payback time."

And before Arthur could react any further, Alfred leaned forward and kissed him, squarely on the lips.

And, _damn it all_ Arthur was certainly not planning on getting kissed by a stranger at a time like this but he couldn't just push Alfred away what with these _electric tingles_ running though his veins and rendering his arms useless on his side and his brain was slowly turning to mush and.

And Arthur hated to admit it, but he was actually _enjoying_ this.

But before he could fully wrap his mind around the idea that _he was actually enjoying a kiss from a bloody stranger!_, Alfred pulled away and, with one last playful wink at him, blended in with the crowd behind them.

And Arthur, instinctively moving his hand towards his trench coat pocket, realized with a sinking feeling that the necklace was _gone_.

_The bastard!_

_

* * *

_

iii.

If there was anything worse than being arrested for theft, it was being arrested for a theft that you didn't do.

Okay, maybe it really wasn't all just coincidence that Arthur was inside his car outside the governor's mansion with harnesses and lock-picking tools and everything else the night of the break-in. But the fact remained that he _didn't_ steal that 14th century Ming vase. He was planning to, yes, but he wasn't able to do it.

Of course he couldn't exactly tell that to the police officer and so he quietly entered the station's interrogation room, hoping that his boss would send someone to get him out.

_Would he?_ he mused. This was supposed to be his saving grace. His boss had put it plainly to him the night he wasn't able to bring home the necklace: _three strikes and you're out_. Well, this was the third strike, wasn't it? Arthur wondered if it was time to get a day job. He chuckled involuntarily at the thought: from Arthur Kirkland, master thief to Arthur Kirkland, office worker.

He heard the door opening and looked up to see the officer who had arrested him a while ago entering the room.

He motioned for Arthur to stand up and follow him. "You're about to be cleared." He informed him gruffly.

Arthur stared at him. "How-?" But he didn't need to finish the question. Because the answer stood by the police desk, grinning widely at him.

"According to this young man," the police officer stationed behind the desk read from a prepared statement, "he found the vase" he motioned to the vase in question on the desk beside his paperwork, "in the middle of a grassy lot about 20 meters away from the governor's mansion at around eleven thirty this evening, the time we took Arthur Kirkland in under suspicion of robbery. How that happened, we cannot be certain, but this young man here hazards a guess that the real thief, upon hearing of the arrest, got cold feet and threw the vase away." The officer stared at the young man in question, an obviously proud-of-himself Alfred beaming widely at a dumbfounded Arthur, as if he could not bring himself to believe any word from this ludicrous tale.

"Anyways," the officer continued, "as Arthur Kirkland could not have returned to the mansion from a place 20 meters away in a matter of seconds (unless he teleported, that is), we are now clearing him of all charges." He glared at Arthur, as if he did not want at all to see him free.

"Well, there you have it." Arthur said triumphantly. "I shall take my leave now."

* * *

Arthur was standing by the curb, wondering _where the bloody hell am I supposed to go now_ when Alfred yanked him by the arm and into his car, beside the driver's seat.

"You do know that we are in front of a police office." Arthur threatened darkly. "I could get you arrested for kidnapping."

"As if you would do that." Alfred replied, sticking his tongue out at Arthur to the latter's great annoyance. "You won't do that to your savior now, would you, Arthur?"

"That is your name, right?" he added as an afterthought.

Arthur pointedly ignored him by abruptly changing the topic. "You stole the vase, didn't you?" It was more of a statement than an accusation.

Alfred shrugged. "I did."

"And you returned it to the police station?" Arthur could not disguise the incredulity seeping into his voice.

"Yup." Alfred gave him a cheeky grin. "Saved your ass back there, didn't I?"

Arthur decided that following that up with _You returned a 14th century Ming vase, for _me_?_ sounded like something straight out of those cheesy romantic movies he would never admit to watching so he settled for asking a simple, "Why, you git? Don't you know how much an authentic Ming vase would sell in auctions? Don't you know how many hundreds of _millions_ of dollars people are willing to pay for one, stolen or not?"

Alfred continued beaming at him, though softer this time. "Let's just say, you may not have succeeded in stealing a necklace that Sunday afternoon, but you did manage to steal something. My heart."

Arthur stared at him. "Don't…don't just go blurting out cheesy lines like that, you idiot!" he finally spluttered, heating up.

Alfred ducked his head in an endearingly sheepish way (more blood rushed into Arthur's face). "I got the sequence all mixed up though, didn't I? I kissed you first before falling in love then finally getting your name."

Well, if Arthur wasn't smitten before, he sure was now.

"Git." He muttered. There followed a pregnant pause, with Alfred looking away, still with that idiotic wide grin on his face and Arthur just sitting there beside him, staring at him while his face glowed bright red in the darkness. Arthur could feel words hanging in the silence between them, all waiting to be stringed together into coherent sentences but what exactly could he reply to everything that Alfred had blurted out, he wasn't quite sure.

And so, before his common sense decided against it, Arthur leaned forward on impulse to plant a chaste kiss on Alfred's cheek.

It was supposed to work, in theory. Arthur would kiss him on the cheek, Alfred would blush (_payback for all the times_ you _made me blush._ Arthur would think smugly) then Arthur would leave into the night and leave the rest to serendipity. It was supposed to work. _In theory._

But Alfred, at the exact same moment, decided to turn around (who knows for what reason) and _smack!_, their lips met.

And Arthur knew that the most sensible response to this was to _pull away_ but he couldn't. Because Alfred's lips tasted good, like peppermint and coffee (and Arthur didn't even like coffee what was happening to the world) and Alfred's hair felt soft underneath his fingers and Alfred. Alfred was, _oh my good god_, Alfred was kissing him back. And Arthur couldn't pull away now, not when he now knew how good Alfred's fingers felt against his own hair, how good it was to feel Alfred moan against his own mouth whenever he pulled that stubborn cowlick of his, how good it felt to have Alfred dart his tongue out every now and then to rub it against Arthur's lips until Arthur could not help but let out a soft moan of pleasure into Alfred's mouth and. And Arthur didn't want to pull away, just yet.

But it was Alfred who pulled away and Arthur blushed as an involuntary and obviously disappointed _oh!_ escaped his lips.

"I'm sorry, babe." Alfred whispered, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth, "but I don't think the police officers standing nearby would appreciate the sight of us making out, no matter how good it probably looks."

And Arthur had to grudgingly admit that he was right. Already, two officers had left the station and were standing several blocks away from Alfred's car. They hadn't seen them yet, but Arthur wouldn't put it pass them to not arrest him and Alfred for public indecency.

"Besides," Alfred continued, lacing his fingers through Arthur's. "I have a proposal to make. You're an awesome thief and I dare say, I'm one too. So." He looked at Arthur meaningfully. "Why don't we just become partners?"

And Arthur knew that Alfred meant every implication of the word, _partner_.

Arthur let out a small smile. "Well, why not?"

* * *

iv.

_…it seems that the mysterious thief with the defiant cowlick strikes again, this time making off with the golden statue of Hermes displayed here in the art gallery as a centerpiece. And this time, he has an accomplice: a sandy-blond man who sadly, has no other identifiable feature…_

Alfred turned off the tv and leaned against the sofa.

"Dinner's ready, Alfred!"

"Great!" Alfred stood up and walked into the kitchen, where Arthur was adding finishing touches to the night's casserole.

"Anything important on tv?" Arthur asked.

"Nope. Nothing that concerns us." Alfred replied with a grin, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist. He wrinkled his nose at dinner. "And dear, what did I tell you about preparing dinner?

"Shut up, git."

_end_

_

* * *

_

End Note:

So uhmm. Written on a whim after watching the music video of If We Ever Meet Again by Timbaland and Katy Perry (extremely catchy song :D). Saw the whole premise there (or more like the whole plot orz;) and I was like, I have to fic this! So there you go |D. /is pelted by tomatoes

Also, I suddenly realized that I like Alfred calling Arthur babe, idek anymore.


End file.
